Intimacy
by GeneImperfect
Summary: A response to the prompt "What if the Italies' personalities were the result of childhood sexual abuse?  How does it affect their relationships?"  Pairings are GerIta and Spamano.  WARNING for frank discussion of the effects of childhood abuse.
1. Intimacy I

**WARNING** for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

Pairings are Spain/Romano & Germany/Italy.

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><p><strong>Intimacy - Part I<strong>

For all that he loved Romano, there was one thing Spain would never understand about him. Even during sex, Romano never looked at Spain's penis.

It didn't matter what position they had sex, nor how many times they'd done so. The first time, Romano had requested that Spain take him from behind, so he hadn't noticed anything too strange (except the fact that when his lover returned from the bathroom afterward, his eyes seemed just a little bit redder, but he hadn't thought to question it at the time). But even now, Romano stubbornly insisted on staring at the wall or at the ceiling or at Spain's concerned face, but never once had he given the other's penis even a glance.

And he refused to touch it. To even ask Romano to fellate him seemed to Spain to be completely out of the question, and so, in spite of the fact that he had a suspicion that that typically foul mouth would be very talented at other things, he had never even brought the subject up.

For all of this, Romano was very demanding when it came to sex. Not only about the specificity of the positions he would and would not participate in, but also the sheer frequency of it. Even more curious was the fact that he seemed to want a lot of sex when he was upset. As much as Spain could appreciate a good round of angry sex, this just wasn't the same thing. It involved little preparation, in spite of the roughness of the act, and he often got the feeling, from the tenseness of the muscles inside him, that Romano was in fact in pain a good deal of the time they had sex. But again, he wasn't sure if he knew how to ask.

Sometimes, Romano wanted to be left completely alone after sex. Immediately following Spain's orgasm, Romano would pull his body off of him and go to the bathroom to "clean himself up," not even looking Spain in the eye as he walked away, and stay there for anything between a few minutes to a half-hour. When he did come back, he often resisted Spain's touches and attempts at comfort, preferring to curl up on the opposite side of the bed.

Other times, it was as if his lover could not get enough attention after sex. Romano would cling tightly to Spain—though he couldn't have called it cuddling, exactly. It was almost a frightened grip, far too tense and strong to be considered a cuddle or perhaps even to be called affectionate. It was as if Romano needed to be taken care of, needed to be protected from something, but didn't know how it could ever be done.

Sometimes after sex, or even during the act, Spain could swear he heard Romano praying.

Maybe it shouldn't have bothered Spain as much as it did. Everyone had their little quirks when it came to sex, naturally he knew that. Spain had his own set of likes and dislikes. But he had never come across someone before Romano who absolutely refused to look at him like this, and for reasons beyond Spain's comprehension, it desperately hurt him.

One day, he finally resolved to ask Romano about it. For his own sake, Spain needed to know what the basis of the problem was.

He waited for one of the not-quite-cuddling times to ask it. He figured that those were the times Romano was least likely to run away or to respond with verbal abuse. Perhaps it wasn't the most scrupulous thing to take advantage of such a vulnerable moment, but Spain honestly no longer knew what else he could do if he ever hoped to get an answer out of his lover.

Spain took a deep breath and forced himself to begin the conversation. His voice wasn't quite steady as he inquired, "Roma?"

"Hm?" Romano lifted his head from Spain's chest to look at him quizzically, as if he couldn't quite read the tone in which he was being questioned.

"Why…" another deep breath, "why is it that you never look at me?"

Romano only looked more confused, eyeing Spain sarcastically. "I'm looking at you right now, idiot."

"I mean," Spain interjected, "when we have sex. Why won't you ever look at, ah, look at my body?" It was clear Romano still wasn't understanding just what Spain was getting at. He sighed, realizing he was simply going to have to be explicit about it. "My penis. Why won't you ever look at my penis, Romano?"

Romano's expression then was reminiscent of a deer-in-headlights, and he seemed unconsciously to grip Spain's body even more tightly than before, his fingernails digging into the skin of his back. Finally, words did come, in a voice that was tight and forced. "And why… why should I have to look at it." The intonation was closer to that of a statement than a question.

Spain gave a facial shrug. "It's what lovers do, I guess." He hadn't really thought it through. "It seems unusual to me, I've never had a lover who refused to look at me like you do."

"Well excuse me for not being as fucking experienced as you!" Oh dear, Romano had taken that comment as an excuse to get defensive. Spain wondered if this conversation would be going anywhere now. "Not everyone consents to have sex with every person who throws themselves at him!"

Ouch. That hurt. Was the accusation really true? Spain certainly didn't think of himself that way—he simply liked to show his love for his friends in a more physical way than perhaps many people did. In any case, he saw nothing wrong with the fact that he had had sex with a variety of people. But then Spain noticed Romano's choice of words. _Not everyone consents._ "Romano, you do _want_ to have sex with me, right?"

At that, Romano choked up. His voice was tighter and more tense than it had ever been, almost as if, were it possible to drop a voice to the ground, it would shatter. "Of course I want to have sex with you. I want to have sex with _you_. It's not… it's not fair, it's not fucking _fair_!" He buried his face in Spain's chest, and Spain could feel a wetness beginning to puddle below the spot where Romano's eyes must be, could feel the body that was gripping him more tightly than was comfortable begin to shudder.

"Oh, Romano…" Spain began to rub the other's back gently, his fingertips massaging small circles at Romano's shoulders and stroking the back of his neck. "It's all right, it will all be all right. I'll take care of you…"

"A little fucking late for that, don't you think?" It was almost a bark of outrage, even through the tears. "As if you could help me now!" He gave a dark, choked, cynical chuckle. "As if you could've helped me then." In an even smaller voice, "_I couldn't even save Veneziano…_"

Spain began to rub Romano's back in long strokes now, from his neck down his spine. He was used to this kind of treatment by now, and especially at this moment, he knew it had nothing to do with him. Could that quirk of Romano's personality possibly have something to do with this? "What happened to you, Roma? You can tell me. What on earth happened to you?" He wasn't so sure he wanted to know the answer anymore.

"He—someone—touched me. Touched _us_. Made us touch him. That's all."

At those words, Spain was shocked. "How… how can you even say that? _'That's all.'_ As if it isn't a big deal to be abused!"

"But it isn't, really. I got hard. I must have liked it! So it wasn't even abuse, not if I wanted it. Even if I was just a kid, my body knew what I wanted." He was only numbly repeating what he'd been told as a child and had since come to believe, but he would never tell Spain that.

_Just a kid?_ Spain didn't even know how to handle that information. The problems with sex were all falling into place now. "That's not true," Spain rebuked, though there was a heavy sadness tinting his voice. "That doesn't mean you wanted it."

But Romano was already off on a tangent. "Sometimes I wonder…" he swallowed, as if this was the hardest thing for him yet to admit, "sometimes I wonder if that's the reason I prefer men. If I wouldn't be this way, except for that. If I could still go to heaven, except for that _bullshit_…!"

On this point, Spain stood firm. "You are _not_ going to hell for loving." How ridiculous that thought was!

Romano, on the other hand, didn't seem to find it ridiculous at all, and snapped. "How the hell should you know?"

"Because it doesn't make sense." In spite of both of them being nominally Catholic, they seemed to have some differences of opinion on certain matters, and this was one of them. God, according to Spain, was a benevolent being, was pure _good_, and valued love above all else. _Dios_, he would often try to explain to Romano, _es un tío majo_. How could such a god punish anyone for loving?

"_You_ don't make sense!" It wasn't the best retort Romano had ever come up with, but it was true enough, wasn't it? The Church itself said that he would go to hell for this; no matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise.

"Romano…" It seemed to Spain as if there was simply no getting through to his lover at the moment. He felt helpless to do anything but continue to rub his back and repeat his name gently, like a kind of mantra. "Romano, Romano, Romano…" Spain wasn't quite sure which of them he was trying to console.

He never seemed to be open to discussing his past after that. Every time Spain would enquire, Romano would simply walk out of the room without responding or even calling him an idiot. Spain decided he would just have to put it aside for now and try to quell his curiosity with regard to that part of Romano's past. It was just that, after all—past. And yet, it continued to affect the both of them in the present. Romano had been right about one thing: that wasn't fucking fair.

One thing that Spain couldn't get out of his head, however, was that Romano had mentioned his brother as well. He couldn't help but wonder if Germany had the same kinds of problems with his lover's northern counterpart as he was having with his Romano. After a week or so of consideration, he decided that, if it had the potential to help him help Romano, he would have to go and ask.

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES: <strong>

This does not reflect my personal headcanon, but rather is a response to the prompt "What if the Italies' personalities were the result of childhood sexual abuse?" This is significantly darker than what I usually write—I don't think a prompt like that ought to he handled with anything less than brutal honesty. Certainly, most of what I write is psychology-heavy, but I've never done anything quite like this before. If it's hard to read, rest assured that it was even harder to write.

The quote _Dios es un tío majo_, "God is a nice guy," comes directly from the mouth one of my professors in Spain when trying to explain the modern Spaniard's relationship with God, which is how I decided to portray Spain's here.


	2. Intimacy II

**WARNING** for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

Pairings are Spain/Romano & Germany/Italy.

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><p><strong>Intimacy - Part II<strong>

The next week, Germany found himself at Spain's house for dinner at the Spaniard's invitation. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing there.

"So," he began the conversation somewhat abruptly, "can you tell me why exactly I've been invited here? You usually don't talk to me much outside of meetings these days."

Spain offered an ingenuous smile, though it was far brighter than he'd actually been feeling for the past several days. "I had a few questions to ask you about Italy."

Germany cocked an eyebrow. "And what questions are those?"

There was a pause while Spain tried to collect his thoughts and form them into words. It turned out that there really was no way to ask his question without awkwardness, so he decided simply to be frank about it. "I was wondering if you ever had trouble with Italy, ah, in bed?" Spain asked almost shyly, though it was more because he didn't know the most apt way to phrase it than anything else.

The question made Germany frown even more sternly than usual. "I don't see how that is any of your concern."

Spain remained undeterred. "It's only that Romano told me… something, something that made me wonder if his brother had similar, well, issues to the ones Romano has. And I want to be able to help him out if I can, so I was wondering, if your Italy had these issues, whether you had figured out what to do about them? So that I can maybe, just maybe, help Roma."

Germany sighed heavily. Perhaps Spain had information that would help him better understand Veneziano, as well. "If I tell you, you are not to repeat this information to anyone."

Spain nodded, "Of course."

"The truth is," Germany began, "he will not have sex with me at all. Is that the same problem you have had with Romano?"

Spain tilted his head. "No, Roma either gets very clingy after sex or very distant. He treats it like a chore, but wants to do it all the time. Unlike his other chores," he added with a laugh that may have been slightly faked. "Sometimes, it's as if… he wants it to hurt him."

Germany frowned even more than he had been frowning before. "Italy is different. He is willing to let me do… certain things to him, but he shies away from everything else."

At that, Spain was more than curious. "Certain things?"

"The rumors are true," Germany shrugged, "that I'm a bit of a sadist. As strange as it may sound, while Italy will allow me to give him a certain amount of pain, he does not allow me to give him pleasure." He gave a pause, as if in thought. "You know, it may be that Veneziano and Romano are not so different after all."

Spain nodded slowly in agreement, the similarities dawning on him. "I can see that."

"But no, Italy does not allow me to have sex with him as Romano does with you." Even the usually sober and stoic Germany seemed bothered by this fact. In tone, his statement almost sounded like an _At least he will actually _have_ sex with you_. "Every time I try, he starts crying or pushes me away. When I try to hold him, to calm him down, he's… injured me before in his struggling." Another of those deep frowns that seemed to characterize the German throughout this conversation. "He always apologizes afterward, but it's as if he's terribly frightened and will not let me comfort him. As if he does not believe I can."

Again, Spain nodded sagely. "That's how Romano makes me feel. As if there's nothing I can do to help him, and he knows it." He gave another mirthless chuckle, "And I'm an idiot for not knowing it. For insisting that there must be some way to help him."

"At first," Germany continued, "I assumed it was because he was a virgin, and that his fear would subside once he realized that I am not going to hurt him, nor do anything he does not wish to do. Unfortunately, it seems that he's never realized this." He looked Spain directly in the face. "I've come to the conclusion that Italy is not a virgin, and that someone has done these things to him against his will."

"Have you ever asked him about it, if it were true?"

Germany gave a brief nod, "But when I ask him, he dismisses me. He acts as if I am a fool to ask him such questions."

Spain chewed on his lower lip, unsure if it would be breaking Romano's trust in him if he were to reveal the information he had. "I've… I've confronted Romano about it as well."

This seemed to pique Germany's curiosity. How morbid. "Oh?"

"He told me," Spain swallowed the small knot that had begun to form in his throat so that he could continue to speak, "he told me they had been. That is to say, abused."

Germany heaved the heaviest sigh he had thus far. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "My god, I knew it. I knew it, and he's right. I really cannot help him."

Spain shook his head. "I refuse to believe that! There must be something we can do for them. Dear Romano and his brother deserve so much better than the life they've had so far! Surely you and I, if no one else, can give them that."

Germany had the most uncharacteristically helpless look on his face, the way that Spain sometimes felt deep down but would never allow himself to admit. He kept up his determination to help, even if that determination were just as much of a façade as Romano's violent outbursts and cursing. He was shaken from his thoughts by Germany finally speaking. "Do you really think it's possible to help?"

A brief look of sadness flashed across Spain's features. He sighed. "To be totally honest with you, I don't know. But we really must believe that we can! Who else can help them, if not us?" He patted Germany's back, which made the other nation feel temporarily awkward, though he was grateful for the comforting gesture nonetheless. "We have to believe that there is something we can do. At least, _I_ insist on believing so."

"We can't change their pasts." Germany's voice sounded completely blank.

"Perhaps no." Spain forced an optimistic tone. "But we can make their futures better. We can help them understand that they didn't deserve what happened to them." Romano in particular seemed to have a big problem with this, in Spain's estimation, but judging by the fact that the other Italy seemed to be all right with being hurt but not healed, there may have been more truth to it for both of them than one might suspect at first glance.

After a long pause, Germany finally nodded. "You have a point. But what exactly are you saying we can do?"

Spain breathed a long, sad sigh. "…I don't know."

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

This does not reflect my personal headcanon, but rather is a response to the prompt "What if the Italies' personalities were the result of childhood sexual abuse?" This is significantly darker than what I usually write—I don't think a prompt like that ought to he handled with anything less than brutal honesty. Certainly, most of what I write is psychology-heavy, but I've never done anything quite like this before. If it's hard to read, rest assured that it was even harder to write.

I want to make absolutely clear that simply engaging in BDSM or pain-play is not a bad thing, and it's not a symptom of past abuse in and of itself. Not everyone who likes it has such a history; far from it. However, like many pleasurable things in life, it is possible to abuse such activities as a sort of negative coping-mechanism (e.g., validating the feeling that one deserves to be punished), which is what is implied to be going on here, at least on Veneziano's part.

I'm not certain yet how long the story is going to be, but this is not the final part.


	3. Intimacy III

**WARNING** for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

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><p><strong>Intimacy - Part III<strong>

Spain had always blamed Romano's poor temperament on the way he had raised him. Growing up inundated by the virile, hypermasculine ideals of the Spanish cult of _machismo_, Romano seemed to Spain to be overcompensating with his aggressiveness, his swearing, his sometimes hypersexuality. But the question that had always nagged at Spain was this: overcompensating for what? Surely, the Italian did not think of himself as somehow emasculated and so feel the need to overexaggerate his masculinity, right? Romano was frankly one of the most masculine nations Spain knew, and naturally chivalrous to boot (though the Italian rarely let this show through, and usually only with women). He simply couldn't understand why his lover felt the need to put of a front like this.

However, once the truth of Romano's past had come inadvertently to light, Spain had begun to make sense of it all. Perhaps his Roma had felt un-masculine for having sex acts forced upon him by another man, and not being able to stop them. Perhaps he thought that, by being excessively aggressive, he could somehow keep such an assault from happening again. Perhaps he thought that, by having so much sex by choice, he could somehow negate the effects of whatever had happened to him without his consent.

Perhaps Spain was simply reading too much into it.

As far as what they could do to help, he and Germany had come to the conclusion that the only thing they could do now was to try to talk to their respective lovers, to find out what exactly had happened to them, or at the very least, to comfort them if they didn't want to talk. Since he'd managed to get more truth out of Romano after sex the last time he'd tried to talk to him, Spain decided that the best way to bring up the subject again would be to wait until after the next time they had sex.

As it turned out, the next time was one of the hide-in-the-bathroom times. Even that couldn't weaken Spain's resolve, however, as he was determined to help, and as far as he could tell, that meant starting the conversation again. After a few minutes of waiting, he got out of bed, pulled on his pants, and followed Romano to the bathroom. When he opened the door, he found the Italian sitting on the floor, still naked, staring blankly at the wall as if waiting for something to happen. When he heard the door open, however, Romano jumped.

"What in the hell are you doing here? Who said you could follow me?"

Spain sighed; he had expected this. "I'm here because we need to talk, Romano."

The Italian simply stared, before making a face. "No. No, we don't need to talk." His voice was deadpanned.

"Yes!" Spain was insistent now. He hadn't made it this far only to walk away with no resolution. "You _have_ to talk to me! I can't help you unless you talk to me."

But Romano only seemed to get even more defensive. "How many times do I have to tell you, it isn't a big deal! Why do you think it's such a big fucking deal when it doesn't even affect me anymore?"

"Because it _does_!" Spain's voice had risen in his frustration. How could Romano not see how very much his past was affecting them both? "It still affects you, it still affects me—"

"Oh, I see now," Romano snapped instantly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But it quickly turned into uncontrolled rage. "You selfish bastard. The only reason you even give a shit is because you're not getting what you want to out of _sex_!"

"No, Romano, of course not!"

"You only care because it affects _you_! You wouldn't even care if it were only bothering me."

"That's not true!"

"Like hell it's not!" Romano snorted. "You just said so yourself. Don't even lie, I heard you."

"Roma…"

"Get out! Get the hell out of here. I don't even want to look at you!"

Spain no longer had the will to do anything but obey Romano's demand. He closed the door to the bathroom and slammed his fist against the wall just outside the doorframe, then took several steps back, as if he were in shock at his own actions. He hid his face in his hands, then ran them back through his already-mussed hair. "Oh, Romano…"

From inside the bathroom, Spain could hear the soft, choked sounds of dry sobbing.


	4. Intimacy IV

**WARNING** for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

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><p><strong>Intimacy Part IV<strong>

Germany, too, had come to the conclusion that the simplest way to begin the conversation was to ask about Italy's behavior immediately following their most "sexual" activity—that is, after a painplay session. Having put away his riding crop, he sat down on the bed before his lover and introduced the topic rather straightforwardly.

"Why do you let me hurt you?"

"Because you like it, don't you?" Italy offered with a soft smile, "I thought you liked it!" He seemed surprisingly cheerful, considering the true subject at hand.

Germany shook his head sternly. "That's not what this is about. You know what I am asking you. Why do you let me hurt you, when you won't let me pleasure you?"

Italy's eyes went blank for several long seconds, but he soon blinked and responded, again with that small smile. "Why do you ask such silly questions, Germany? We both like it. Isn't that pleasuring me?" The entire time he was speaking, Italy failed to truly meet Germany's eyes, instead staring off into the space just beside his head.

Germany gave a disappointed sigh, as if he had somehow expected this to be easier. "Sometimes I get the impression you don't really like it."

Still smiling, Italy returned, "That's silly, too. Why would I willingly do something I don't like?" Italy's voice was tense this time, fraught with _something,_ though Germany couldn't tell exactly what.

"That's exactly what I'm asking you."

This statement was followed by another blank pause, this one lasting even longer than before. Instead of being broken with a smile, this time Italy's lower lip began to quiver, and when he responded his voice was shaking just as much. "I… Germany, it wasn't my fault!" He drew in a quick breath. "I didn't want to! It wasn't my fault at all." When he looked up at Germany, his usually bright eyes shone with a wetness instead of a joy. A frown marred his features, and he buried his face into Germany's chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "It wasn't my fault…" Italy could be heard sniffling into the shirt now, a fact which normally would have bothered the conscientious Germany; yet, at this moment, his dirty shirt suddenly felt so irrelevant. "Don't be mad at me, please don't be mad at me…" he whimpered, before his voice finally cracked piteously and he began to cry.

Germany wrapped one arm around Italy comfortingly, using his free hand to stroke his fingers through his soft, light brown hair. "There, there," he tried to soothe, but he only managed to feel useless and incompetent. As he listened to that final plea that Italy had spoken, his heart ached as if it were literally breaking. The Italian didn't deserve this. "How—" Germany's voice cracked, "how could I possibly be angry with you for something that isn't your fault? How could I be angry with you because someone else hurt you?" His throat was so constricted by now that it physically hurt to speak.

Italy sniffled against Germany's chest again. "B-but… you said…"

Germany sighed, continuing to run his fingers through Italy's hair. "I didn't mean it like that. I certainly didn't mean to make you cry. I'm the one who is sorry, Italy." He gave the Italian a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry about whatever must have happened to you. I'm sorry I didn't admit it to myself sooner. And I'm truly sorry you don't seem to think I can help you." The German's voice sounded uncharacteristically strained.

Italy gulped, then lifted his head from Germany's chest to take in a deep breath of air. His face when he looked up was reddened and tear-stained. "Germany…"

Germany's voice was gently insistent now. "I don't know exactly what happened to you, and I do not expect you to tell me if you aren't comfortable doing so. However, I _do_ insist that, whatever it was, you did not deserve it."

Italy's eyes drifted downward, as if he didn't really believe what he'd just been told. Germany attempted to lift his chin, but the touch only caused Italy to struggle against the arm holding him close until Germany let go. "Don't—!" he almost shouted. When he finally met Germany's eyes again, he was panting from the exertion of breaking away from him, his shoulders rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.

Germany's eyes were wide, startled, but soon softened sadly. "Warum muss das so unmöglich sein?" he muttered to himself under his breath. _Why must it be so impossible?_ Why was there nothing he could do for Italy—why did he have to feel so helpless? Endless unanswered questions flitted through Germany's head, each of them more impossible to answer than the last.

Then he spoke to Italy, reaching out a hand slowly, gingerly, half expecting him to shrink back in fear again. "I'm sorry to have brought it up. I won't ask any more of you."

Italy nodded and took a few cautious steps forward. "Just hold me?" he asked in the smallest of voices.

"Yes," Germany nodded in return, "I can do that." And he wrapped his arms tightly around Italy, for the sake of he knew not whom.


	5. Intimacy V

**WARNING** for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

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><p><strong>Intimacy Part IV<strong>

After giving Romano some time to get through his spell of frustration, Spain went back to stand before the bathroom door and waited for him to emerge. However, the longer he waited, the more this seemed unlikely to happen. Eventually, Spain decided that there was simply nothing else for it and forced himself to knock. "Look, I know you're angry." He spoke loudly so that he could be heard through the wood of the door. "And you have every right to be! But please… _no te enojes conmigo_. I don't know what I'd do if you were truly angry with me."

Romano finally opened the door, his eyes red and his cheeks flushed, clear evidence that he had indeed been crying. Even if that hadn't been evidence enough, the fact that his voice was tense and cracking when he finally spoke would have given it away. "I'm not mad at _you_, idiot. And you're so pathetic when you have to resort to speaking Spanish like that."

Spain smiled with relief that Romano was even talking to him. "I only wanted to help you. Will you let me help you?"

"I don't know what you think you can do." But it wasn't a _no_, and that may have been the first step to recovery.

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><p>Germany continued to hold Italy in what he hoped to be a comforting embrace. Italy, at least, wasn't pulling away from him; that must have been a good sign. His thick fingers stroked gently through the brunet's hair, soothing as well as he knew how. "Now, can you tell me what the matter is? Italy, please talk to me."<p>

Those words _did_ cause Italy to jerk his body backward, his eyes widening and his head shaking fiercely, crossing his arms in front of himself as if in defense. "No! No, don't make me talk, I can't talk it, please…" The way Italy said it, he made it sound as if he were quite literally unable to talk about his past.

Germany released him with a heavy sigh, and Italy took several steps back. It hurt to watch him pull away, but Germany would rather feel that than feel Italy struggle against his arms. "I only want to help you. You know that, I hope."

"You can't! I'm not the one who needed help. I don't need help!" The true meaning behind the words was clear enough to Germany: _I don't deserve help_. Italy's tone, his facial expression, everything about him betrayed the fact that the real issue was his partner's refusal to accept help, not any lack of need. Italy took a breath. "I didn't help. I was too scared! I didn't help, I just watched him. I just watched him be hurt…"

His entire speech was accompanied and abetted by uncontrolled gesticulation, talking with his hands as if his train of thought depended upon it—and knowing the Italian, perhaps it did. Even so, his thoughts seemed to Germany to be utterly disjointed, and it was difficult for him to follow exactly what Italy was talking about. Still, he could gather that, whatever had happened to Romano, Veneziano seemed to think that it had been far worse than what had happened to himself, and because of this, he didn't feel that his own experiences were 'bad enough' to deserve the help or sympathy his brother did. Germany felt that this was a gross underestimation of the damage that had clearly been done, and he did not hesitate to tell Italy as much.

"That doesn't mean that you yourself don't need help! Is it not obvious to you that you've been hurt by these actions as well?" Germany could not keep his frustrations from slipping into his intonation, and his voice left his lips sounding much harsher than he'd originally intended it to.

Italy cringed at the tone in Germany's voice, and the fact that his volume had gone up as he spoke. "Germany, Germany, no. No, please…" His voice was beginning to get choked up again. "You can't understand! And I'm glad you can't, that would be terrible, but sometimes I wish you could!" Italy's own voice had risen in volume and pitch as he went.

Germany understood his words, even if they seemed contradictory on the surface. He, perhaps more than most, could identify with the need for others to comprehend even things about his past which he would not have wished on anyone. All he could think to do was to nod quietly and offer reassurance that yes, he could at least understand the need to be understood.

* * *

><p>It was weeks later when Romano finally told Spain fully about his past, revealing that what had happened to him was far more than touching and being touched; the violence that had been committed against the two brothers was nothing short of appalling. Veneziano, being a bit younger than Romano was, hadn't been raped as Romano had, but he was forced to watch the whole thing, and afterward he did not speak at all for weeks and weeks, as if he had literally been terrified into silence. Veneziano had been made to do certain things, that was true, but he had not been penetrated. One thing that had especially horrified Spain about the account was that the fact that they were both brothers and looked so much alike had merely aroused their assailant more. <em>"Pity the cuter one is so young,"<em> he'd said before violating Romano. Even to a rapist, Romano said, he hadn't really been wanted, and yet he had been used anyway. Spain objected vehemently to that statement, but the painful reality dawned on him of just why his poor Romano might be so insecure. The truth was worse than anything he had ever imagined.

* * *

><p>As for the other Italy, Veneziano persisted in refusing to go into any detail about what had happened to him. Germany had begun to conclude that Italy may never be ready to talk, and to his credit, he was trying to convince himself that that was okay. Not everything could be solved by trying to discuss it rationally, he knew; there were some wounds which could only be helped by time. Still, it wasn't easy for Germany to watch Italy continue to suffer in silence, all the while feeling as if he were not allowed to do a single thing that might truly help him. To tell the truth, even if he had been given access to Italy's thoughts and fears and memories, he hadn't the slightest idea what it would take from him to help his partner heal. In the entire history of their relationship, Germany had never felt as helpless as this.<p>

* * *

><p>A short time after their previous discussion, Spain finally decided to address the one thing that had been bothering him perhaps the most ever since the two of them had started being intimate.<p>

"Does it hurt you when I have sex with you?"

Romano gave him a puzzled look. "Isn't it supposed to?"

No words could describe the pained look on Spain's face at that moment. Of course his first experience with intercourse must have been horribly painful for Romano, but to think that that was how it was _supposed_ to feel… to Spain's mind, that consequence was simply tragic. The implications of Romano's statement, too, made him feel terribly hurt. "You mean you really thought I'd do something that I knew would cause you pain? You thought I would hurt you for my own pleasure?"

Romano seemed completely stymied at this. "How could THAT ever feel good?" He frowned. "I never said I thought you were using me. I just figured I deserved it…"

"No!" Spain's reply came immediately, and was almost a shout. But he quickly calmed himself and managed to continue on in his previous soothing tone. "No, you don't. This is what we need to work on."

Romano scowled again at that, as if he didn't feel the need to 'work on' anything; as if he still failed to see the problem inherent in the fact that he only knew sex as wounding.

But Spain interrupted his thoughts. "Healing will take a long time, I know, but I want to truly make love to you." He gave a smile that was somehow both saddened and hopeful. "_Te quiero, Romano. Te amo. _I love you more than anything. Sex _can_ feel good, and I want to show you."

After a long silence between them, Romano finally nodded. "All right. If you really believe that—if it's really even true—then prove it to me." He took a deep breath, "Make love to me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I didn't want to go into too much detail about the actual abuse (only included as much as I need for plot purposes), but that's really not the point of my story; it's about recovery. Hopefully the Spanish is clear from context, but _No te enojes conmigo_ means "Don't get angry with me," and _Te quiero_ and _Te amo_ are, of course, "I love you."


	6. Intimacy VI

****WARNING**** for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Intimacy Part VI<strong>

"Make love to you… Do you mean right now?" Spain asked, unsure if it was really the best idea. Romano simply nodded in response. "Well, all right," the Spaniard cautiously agreed, "but you have to promise me something."

Romano grunted his assent. "Mm'hm. What?"

"Promise me you'll tell me if what I'm doing starts to hurt you," Spain insisted. Romano agreed, albeit with just a hint of stubbornness in his voice.

As it turned out, the Italian nation was true to his word. It did hurt, and he did let Spain know, though he also insisted that Spain finish what he had started. The following time they had sex, Romano told Spain that, while it still hurt him, it was hurting less than before. It was a very small step forward, but nevertheless, it was a step.

* * *

><p>Trying to help Veneziano was proving to be perhaps even more work for Germany than helping Romano was for Spain. They, too, had to begin with little things—though these were little things of a different kind. Italy was doing his best to allow Germany to hold him when he did get upset. He wasn't always able to handle it for too long, but the effort he was making and the fact that Germany was being permitted to hold him without some kind of struggle (Italy had learned by now to ask him more gently to let him go) all made things much easier for the German. Even something as small as being able to touch Italy in his times of distress made him feel just a little bit less helpless.<p>

Italy still seemed unable to talk about his experiences, but Germany was no longer of the mind to pressure him into doing so. One didn't have to talk about one's past experiences in any great detail in order to heal from them; there were other ways. Germany was especially proud of Italy the first time he decided he was willing to shower together, and the two of them spent over twenty minutes with the water from the showerhead pouring down on them, washing each other's hair, sometimes sharing damp kisses, and sometimes even laughing. The fact that Italy was willing to be naked together with him in a confined space seemed to Germany to be nothing short of hopeful.

In spite of all the progress that had been made, Italy was still simply not yet ready for sex. On one level, Germany was perfectly fine with this fact; just as there were ways to heal beyond talking, so there were ways to heal beyond sex. But on another level, it was all incredibly hard on him. Often the fact that Germany's sex life consisted mainly of himself and his hand frustrated him terribly. However, he loved Italy as he had loved no one else, and it seemed to him far too foolish to leave simply to be able to engage in partnered sex. He would wait. He would wait for as long as it took to help Italy.

* * *

><p>Spain was determined to make his Italy believe in "making love." He would move as slowly as it took, lavish as much attention on Romano as necessary, do whatever he had to do to show him that sex did not have to hurt; that sex could be an expression of something more than simply dominance; that sex could be something positive, something loving, something <em>good<em>.

This time, he was cautious at first, starting ever-so-slowly with kisses down the side of Romano's neck. When he got to the neckline of his shirt, Spain pulled it off over his head and continued kissing down his torso, across his chest, placing a long, loving kiss directly over Romano's heart. From the small "_mmh_"s and "_ah_"s coming from his lover as he continued to place sweet, gentle kisses all over his body, Spain got the impression that his methods were beginning to have just such an effect. Slowly, gradually, he removed each article of clothing, tenderly kissing every bit of skin as he uncovered it, until Romano was lying before him completely nude, flushed and panting. He carefully prepared him, taking his time, not allowing Romano to rush him as he had often done in the past; this was all about showing him that it was worth it to Spain to spend time and care on him in order to do this right.

And when Spain finally pushed inside him, the cry which escaped Romano's lips was distinctly one of pleasure and not pain. That felt to Spain to be a triumph in itself.

After orgasm, Romano did cry. But this time it was a different kind of tears; tears of happiness, tears of a love he never knew he could feel, tears from being treated so well after such a long time of believing he shouldn't be; tears of finally beginning to believe that he deserved to be loved like this. And he let Spain hold him as he cried this time, as these tears were not shameful ones. Spain, for his part, felt grateful simply to be allowed to wipe them away, to kiss Romano's reddened cheeks and tell him it was all right, everything would be all right; and he was even more grateful for the thought that, just a little bit, Romano might be starting to believe him.

* * *

><p>There was one day when Germany felt so frustrated that, against his usually better judgment, he ended up asking Italy outright. "Do you think you'll ever be able to let me penetrate you?" he asked in a slightly awkward-sounding voice, though his wording was straightforward enough. "Anally," he added.<p>

A look of horror flashed across Italy's face. "But Germany, why would you want to do thatto me?" He gave a small shudder. " You know I can't _stand_ the sight of blood!"

Germany's stomach gave a sickening turn. "Is that what happened to you? My God…"

"No," Italy's eyes began to burn, and Germany could see the tears beginning to well up. "No, it didn't happen to me. It happened to _him_." His throat tightened around his words. "I just sat there, all I could do was sit there and watch and do nothing to help him—!" And with that, the tears overflowed, and Italy buried his face in Germany's shirt.

Germany could think of nothing to say. He simply wrapped his arms around Italy, who had by now begun to sob. It was sickening, it was absolutely sickening and horrifying. As much of an irritation as Veneziano's brother could be… God, no wonder he pushed everyone away with his behavior. Germany was amazed that the older Italy had even been willing to have sex with Spain at all. Perhaps it had to do with what he and Spain had discussed before; perhaps it was the same reason his Italy had been willing to engage in heavier painplay than he liked. (They had discussed it later, and it wasn't something he disliked altogether. Germany had at first wanted to stop completely, but Italy protested.)

"I was so scared…" Italy's voice was small and high, as if his throat were constricted too tightly and that was all that he could force out.

Germany rubbed his hand up and down Italy's shuddering back.

"But I didn't deserve to be! I shouldn't be as afraid of it as I am. What happened to me was barely even bad! I don't deserve people to be nice to me or try to help me—Romano is the one who needed help, and I didn't— I couldn't—!" He whimpered. "I'm sorry. Germany, I'm sorry…" He gave a small hiccup. Then, in barely a whisper, "_Romano, mi dispiace._"

Had someone asked him why, Germany couldn't have explained it, but hearing those words coming from his partner's mouth made him angry. Not with Italy; he could never blame Italy for this. But that was precisely the problem! He lifted Italy's chin until he was looking Germany directly in the eyes. "I refuse to accept an apology for something over which you had no control! You've done nothing wrong, Veneziano. You didn't deserve to be hurt back then and you don't deserve to be hurting now. You cannot blame yourself for that! You have nothing to apologize for." His arms wrapped back around the Italian once he had said his piece.

Italy's tears began to slow, and he looked back up at Germany, this time of his own volition. "You really believe that, Germany?"

Germany nodded. "And I need _you_ to believe it as well. No more of this," and with these words, he brought up a hand to wipe away the tears that had wet the Italian's reddened cheeks.

Italy pursed his lips for several seconds, as if unsure whether or not he could agree to this. But in the end, he nodded, slowly and carefully. "I'll… I'll try."


	7. Intimacy VII

******WARNING**** **for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Intimacy Part VII<strong>

The warm sunlight poured in through the kitchen window, its beams splaying across the table in Romano's house where the Italian and his brother were sharing an afternoon coffee. The conversation ranged from the latest football match to what they should prepare for dinner that night. Romano had suggested pizza, but Veneziano said that he had just made pizza for Germany the previous night.

"Did you ruin it by putting his god-awful sausage on it?" Romano accused, knowing that Veneziano sometimes did so at the German's request.

"No! Actually, I made him potato pizza," Veneziano replied with enthusiasm.

Romano's response was to roll his eyes. "Even better."

"He said it was really good!"

"I don't doubt that. Any food we make is good," Romano said defensively, unwilling to confess to any personal enjoyment of pizza with sausage or potatoes. As if to change the subject, he added, "How is he doing, anyway?"

"Pretty well," Veneziano didn't seem to mind the distraction, "he's as busy as always." He reciprocated, "And how are you and Spain?"

"Better than ever," Romano responded truthfully; their relationship seemed to him to have improved with their sex life. But their sex life had only improved with their discussion of his past… Romano paused, as if unsure whether or not he should continue. Finally, he took a deep breath. "I told Spain about what happened to us when we were kids."

Veneziano continued to smile at him for a few moments before realization dawned on him, and his features sank into an expression of fear. "You mean… _that_?"

Romano nodded soberly. "He confronted me about… certain things I do in bed, and he wouldn't stop asking. So I ended up telling him so that he'd stop fucking bothering me about it. It was getting annoying." Another long pause. "If Germany found out because of me, I'm… that wasn't my intention."

Veneziano nodded, then shook his head. "Ah, no, Germany found out because of me! I got scared, and I didn't mean to tell him, but I told him! I was hoping you wouldn't be upset! But I guess you aren't, since you told Spain too."

Romano shook his head. "No, I understand—you did what you had to do. It was the same for me."

But Veneziano was still focused on his brother's previous statement. "But Romano… things you do in bed?" he asked, seemingly baffled. "You mean even after all that, you still…?"

The look which spread across Romano's features appeared almost startled. "Well… yes," he answered awkwardly; he wasn't sure how to respond to such a question from his brother. "We still have sex. Do you _not_, just because of that?" The question came out much more dismissively than he'd meant it, perhaps even with a hint of irritation.

"I get so scared!" Veneziano's eyes widened, and he looked as if he might start crying with any further provocation. "I saw what happened to you… There was _blood_, Romano, you were crying! Is that what you let Spain do to you? How could you ever let anyone do that to you again?" The Italian's hands were moving almost as quickly as his mouth, gesturing more and more emphatically as his emotions heightened in intensity.

There was a long pause as Romano tried to decide how to explain to his brother why he could do what he did now. He'd never imagined having to justify his sexual activity, much less have this conversation with Veneziano. "No, that's not what I 'let him do to me.' And it's not like that—it's not _always_ like that. Sex doesn't have to hurt—."

Veneziano interjected, "But there was—!"

"There isn't always!" Romano snapped, irritated by his brother's repeated protests. Veneziano flinched. "I mean," said Romano more calmly, trying not to upset him further, "sex doesn't always do that. Like I said, it doesn't have to hurt."

"It doesn't? How could that _not_…?" Veneziano seemed completely bewildered.

"Will you shut up and listen to me?"

"I'm sorry," Veneziano apologized quickly, "I didn't mean to make you mad."

Romano simply nodded, acknowledging the apology. "To be honest," he conceded with a heavy sigh, "it did at first. It hurt, I mean. And I assumed the same thing, that it was supposed to. I didn't know any better." Veneziano responded with an uncomfortable cringe. Continuing in a more urgent voice, Romano added, "But that's wrong, that's all wrong. Being forced isn't the same as sex. _Rape_ isn't sex, that's bullshit," he insisted firmly, perhaps more firmly than he actually believed, for Veneziano's benefit.

But his brother couldn't even handle the word, flinching again. "Romano…"

Romano wouldn't be deterred. "I didn't believe it either, at first. But Spain told me—no, he _showed_ me—it doesn't have to be that way. It can even feel good."

Veneziano gave him another confused look, but didn't say anything, not wanting to anger his brother again.

"It's hard to change, and it takes a long time," he admitted. "Months, even. Maybe years. But in the end, it's worth it."

"What's worth it? Changing what?"

Romano paused to formulate an answer. "Changing your beliefs, your attitude toward things. I used to think 'making love' was absurd, just some romantic fantasy people had in their heads. That it never actually happened. But I think I'm starting believe in it," he confessed, "in making love. And you know I wouldn't say sappy shit like that if I didn't mean it." He did his best to convince, looking his brother in the eyes to make certain that he understood.

"Really?" Veneziano sounded uncharacteristically doubtful.

"Really." Romano managed to hide his frustration as he continued his attempts to convince his brother; he didn't feel the other nation was listening. "If you're careful, if you go slowly… if someone cares about you… those things make the difference." His demeanor changed as he spoke, as if he were taking in the meaning of his own words. "It's… nice."

Veneziano wanted to believe him—it was his brother, after all—but it was with much difficulty. He gave a hesitant nod. "But I'm still scared. I don't think I could ever do what I watched that man do to you!"

Romano shrugged. "And you don't have to, I guess. It was worth it for me, but maybe it isn't for you. Hell, you may have been hurt worse than I was—."

"That can't be true!" Veneziano protested. "You were the one who was hurt! He hurt _you_."

"Are you serious? He hurt you too! Can't you fucking see that!" There was no point in hiding his frustration now, and Romano's hand slammed down onto the tabletop with such force that it shook the coffee in their cups. "Look at you! Seriously, just look at yourself. You're so scared of sex that you probably can't even _look_ at Germany naked, and yet you honestly don't think you're affected by what happened? You think this is normal?" Romano gestured up and down as if to indicate Veneziano's behavior. He paused, having gotten so worked up that he was out of breath. Taking the moment to think back on it, Romano recalled that he himself hadn't been willing to believe at first that his actions were still influenced by what had happened all those years ago; this realization helped him to regain his composure. "Look," he conceded, "I know it's hard. But damn it, if you don't believe that you need help, you'll just keep on living this way! And as much as I don't like the German, I don't want to see that for either of you! You need help, you deserve help, _please_…" His diatribe tapered off into a plea.

Veneziano responded quietly, "But I _can_ look at Germany naked."

"Then for God's sake, let him help you! If you won't let me," Romano insisted.

Even though Germany had tried to convince him of the same things, hearing his brother say them may have been precisely the impetus Veneziano needed. "If… if _you_ say it's okay to ask for help, after what happened to you—."

"Don't act like what happened to me was any worse than what happened to you! I'm sick of hearing that."

"Fine, it wasn't! And I deserve help as much as you do, right?" He still sounded unsure, sounded as if he needed approval, as if he thought there were a right or wrong answer. It was almost as if he were asking Romano for permission.

Romano sighed, feeling something in between being glad to hear it and being aggravated by his brother's uncertainty. "_Yes_."

"Okay." It was a bit weak, but any agreement was better than none at all. "I'll talk to Germany about it again." He hesitated briefly, but continued, "Maybe we can even 'make love' someday too."

Romano gave a small smile, glad that he finally seemed to be getting through to Veneziano. "Maybe you will."

* * *

><p>When Germany answered the door, he was greeted with a hearty <em>"I'm back!"<em>, but a Veneziano whose expression seemed much more sober than usual. He gave the Italian a kiss on the forehead.

"And how was your visit with your brother?" he asked curiously, not betraying that he had noticed a difference in Veneziano's demeanor.

"Good! He's doing well, and he says he and Spain are doing well too."

"That's good to hear. I'm sure he enjoyed seeing you again."

"Germany?" Veneziano asked abruptly.

"What is it?" The Italian had Germany's full attention now. Perhaps now he would get some idea of why Veneziano was acting so strangely.

"Germany…" A deep, calming breath. Then, in a voice that wasn't completely steady, "I want to have sex."


	8. Intimacy VIII

******WARNING**** **for the frank discussion of childhood sexual abuse. If you think this might trigger you, please do not read the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Intimacy Part VII<strong>**I**

"_I want to have sex."_ The words hung still in the air for several long seconds before Germany responded to them.

After giving an awkward cough, he answered with the only thing he could think to say: simply, "Why?"

Italy seemed at first not to know the answer to the question. "Haven't… haven't you wanted to? I thought you wanted to, didn't you?"

Germany sighed. "That's not an adequate reason. It would be selfish of me to expect you to do something you seem to be so afraid of for no reason other than my wanting to."

"But I told you I wanted to, too! Isn't that enough? Both of us wanting to!" The Italian's eyes were pleading for Germany to pay him heed.

Germany shook his head. "I can't believe you when you say that. I trust your actions more than your words, Veneziano. What put this idea into your head? Your brother?"

The look on Italy's face betrayed that this was the truth. "Romano says that he has sex with Spain, and he's just fine!"

Germany insisted, "You're not Romano."

"We're brothers—"

"That doesn't mean you are capable of doing the same things." Germany realized how patronizing that must have sounded, and added quickly, "I'm not saying that you're any less than he is. I'm only saying that you have different personalities and different responses."

But Italy would not be deterred. "He said it helped! Romano said that doing that helped him, it helped _them_. If it worked for him and Spain, why shouldn't it work for you and me?"

"Like I just said, you're different."

Italy looked crestfallen. "Is that bad?" He frowned, clearly upset by Germany's words. His voice began to shake. "Shouldn't I be able to do what Romano can do? Why shouldn't I?"

"Why should you have to?" Germany responded determinedly, gently but meaningfully grasping Italy by the shoulders. "Veneziano, I love you. I will continue to do so regardless of whether we…"

"But Romano said it _helped_!" Italy was insistent, though his voice was still unsteady with emotion. "He said he and Spain are doing better now! And I think we could be doing better now too."

"Better? Better than what?" Germany clearly wanted a concrete answer; something definitive, something quantifiable. He wanted to be able to know for certain whether or not what they did was indeed helping.

His self-assurance growing, Italy's voice had now steadied somewhat. "I don't know, but maybe if we have sex it will help!"

"What will it help? Are you unsatisfied in our relationship?" Germany was careful not to admit to his own frustration with their lack of physical relations. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to have sex with Italy; far from it. Nevertheless, he was far more worried about hurting his Italian lover than he was about his own wants.

"No! Well, maybe yes? I just feel like things could get better. And maybe if we tried that…" Italy's thoughts seemed to fumble clumsily off his tongue. It was as if he wanted to convince Germany that this was the solution they'd been looking for, but he was frustrated by the fact that he didn't know how, that he couldn't figure out what Germany wanted to hear.

Germany eyed Italy doubtfully. "Are you sure you want to try this? I really don't want to see you upset…"

"Romano said it was okay for me to ask for help!" Italy interjected, as if his brother's permission was more important to him than all Germany's pleas had been. "And I really feel like this could help!"

Finally, the Italian nation was willing to ask for help; that fact alone was comforting to Germany. Even so, while he was glad that Italy sounded so hopeful, he still remained cynical about such a plan. However, he could tell that his partner was not going to let the idea go. "If you really think it would help you to have sex, I suppose we could try. But you have to be prepared to accept it if your plan doesn't work out; realize that it may not."

Italy gave a small frown at that, but he nodded. "Okay. But I really think it will! I want it to."

Germany nodded, conceding that much. "So do I."

* * *

><p>Spain was sitting on the couch, Romano laying across it with his head in the other nation's lap. The Italian rolled over onto his back to look up at Spain, asking in a forced-casual tone that didn't betray just how long it had taken him to raise the question, "Do you think our relationship's gotten better?"<p>

Spain blinked, the question seeming unexpected. But once he'd processed it, he responded, "Better since when? We've been pretty good for awhile now, I think." He paused. "Do you mean since we talked about…?"

"No," Romano replied, "do you think it's gotten better… with the sex?" Spain looked down at him quizzically, seemingly about to point out that they had been having sex for a long time now. Realizing that he would have to clarify, Romano began to mumble and his gaze broke away from Spain's eyes, as if he were embarrassed by what he was about to say. "Since the 'making love' stuff."

"Oh!" Spain now realized what Romano meant. "What do you think?" He didn't seem to recognize that he'd failed to answer the question himself.

"Well, I was talking to Veneziano," Romano prefaced, "and I told him that I believe maybe it has." His eyes looked directly into Spain's, questioningly. "I mean, do you think so?"

Spain paused for a moment, then nodded. "Now that I think about it, I agree." One hand reached down to stroke Romano's hair as he continued, "We do communicate better now, and—if I dare to say it—I think you seem happier." Romano's face flushed a light red, and he scowled. But Spain knew better than to believe it. "Well… aren't you?"

Though still blushing, Romano nodded slightly. "I… I do like it better now than before. I like that I can just lie there with you afterwards, you know? More peacefully, without those thoughts intruding…" He swallowed, as if his mind were wading into more difficult waters. "I mean, sometimes they do, but now I can ride it out with you. Instead of having to do it alone." Romano shook slightly, and Spain's hand caressed his cheek.

"I know, I know. And I'm here with you now, too, okay?" he soothed. "I'm glad you can feel that way now. At first I wasn't sure you ever would. But I'm happy to know that you can trust me that much."

Romano nodded again, blinking a few times to clear his eyes. "So anyway," he shifted the topic of conversation away from himself, "I told Vene that we're doing better since then. I don't know if it was a good idea, he still seems terrified of sex—." Here Spain nodded, though he didn't betray the fact that he and Germany had discussed that very topic. He didn't want Romano getting mad at him for giving details of their sex life, even if it was with the intent to help him. "But now he says he wants to try doing it with Germany." Romano sighed, looking up at Spain with uncertainty. "Is what I said a bad idea?" he questioned, shrugging with his hands. "Or do you think I did the right thing?"

For a few seconds, Spain looked thoughtful. Then, he responded, "Who knows, maybe it will work? In any case, I don't think it would hurt him to try. And I'm sure Germany will notice if he needs to stop."

"Good point." Romano heaved a sigh. "I guess it's up to them. I just… want Veneziano to be happy," he admitted finally.

Spain smiled gently. "I'm sure he will be! No matter what happens with those two, I don't think it will be bad. That is, they'll be able to work through it. I'm sure of it." He leaned down to place a kiss on Romano's forehead. "No need to worry about them."

"Who said I was worried?" Romano returned quickly. But the truth of the matter showed on his face, and Spain laughed.

"_You_ did! You said you hope he's happy."

Romano protested, "That's not worrying!" The flustered look on the Italian's face only caused Spain to laugh harder. "Oh, shut up."

"Okay, okay. I won't tease you anymore." Another kiss to Romano's forehead; then, Romano lifted his head and pressed another kiss to Spain's lips.

"Then don't tease me." Romano grinned cheekily, their previous subject matter nearly forgotten.

Spain smiled back, "I won't." He adjusted his position on the couch to a more comfortable one, then wholeheartedly returned Romano's kiss.


End file.
